The Steady Hand of My Father

Before the first dawn broke the night,
You knew my name, You held my frame.
You’re not just a judge of cosmic might,
But my “Father”—the most tender name.
When footsteps stumble, weak and blind,
And shadows stretch across the floor,
It’s Your patient hand I find,
Guiding through the open door.
You do not count my deep regrets,
Nor turn away when I am weak.
Your grace remembers, love forgets,
Giving the peace my soul would seek.
Like a father holds his frightened child
Against the booming thunder and the heavy rain,
Your quiet voice, so calm and mild,
Whispers that I will rise again.
The grandest King, the Creator, the greatest Architect,
Who spun the stars and set the sea,
Yet stoops to love, shield, and protect—
A perfect Father, holding me.

©️ Deborah Seale 2026

https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_steady_hand_of_my_father_1828228